Nakah
by Idonquixote
Summary: "I have no use for obsolete languages." When the young master refuses to learn an ancient language, Sebastian remembers a very distant past, namely the brief story of a dying village in the sand, a cackling stranger, and a temple that burnt to dust. One-shot. Implied Sebastian/OC (one-sided)


**I wanted to try my hand at something like this for a while. It's an idea I've been playing with since I doubt Yana intends to shed any light on Sebastian's "backstory." So it's something I thought would be interesting to fic, but not something I _really_ believe as a headcanon. **

**There's hints of past!Sebastian/OC in this story, but it's not enough to call it a romance per se. That, and it doesn't end well.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Kuroshitsuji**

* * *

"How is your Latin, young master? Should we brush up on it today?"

"I've not the faintest idea. Though if that's a challenge, Sebastian, I shall gladly take you up on it."

Ciel flexed his hand, ready to take up the pen and start the exercise once more. As far as the demon could tell, the boy was eager to finish his assignment and mighty confident that his knowledge of the language had not rusted over disuse.

"Permission to speak, my lord?"

"What is it?"

"It seems the young master is confident in his Latin. Perhaps we can add another tongue to the curriculum?"

"And what would that be? German?"

"No, something more along the line of the Classics: olden Hebrew."

"Are you mad, Sebastian?"

Ciel relaxed the hand, tilting his head to scrutinize the butler. He half-snorted. "I have no use for obsolete languages."

The demon reveled in little quips from his master, but this one in particular he had no response for. It died in his mouth. _Obsolete?_

* * *

She met him on a dying day. She had wandered down from the village to check the outer wells. They were still dry. Flies nagged at the back of her neck, buzzing under her ears. She swept her black hair back, the long braid reaching her waist- once a silky shine in her childhood, it was now plagued with grey hairs that betrayed her sixteen summers.

Robes sticking to her skin under the heat, she walked onward, hazel eyes searching for anything that gave life. She passed the mountain, ready to climb if she must. She had lost one brother to the famine already and her mother would die if this continued. They would all die. She shuddered, stumbling from fatigue- no water, no food... nothing. The scorching sun became a red orb as it set, then eclipsed by a block of black.

She gasped, falling back as the rocks tumbled down, a landslide that she would never escape. Muttering a prayer, she braced herself for the worst- it was not to come. The feeling of foreign cloth was upon her, solid flesh underneath. She was in the shadow of a boulder and under that boulder was the figure of man.

The black of a keffiyeh blew from the wind, revealing the face of her savior. He smiled, a devious quirk to his lips, and bright eyes mocked her frozen face. Still caught in his grip, she looked at the boulder, easily held up by one of his pale hands. With a push so gentle, it attracted no wind, he sent the boulder crashing into three pieces on the ground.

"Were you planning to die?" he asked, velvety voice unbefitting of his coarse tone.

"Please let go. Let go now."

And so he did.

 _I have no water. I have no food._

He was about to turn from her, a figure of black and gray robes, so clean and vibrant in the face of such desolation. She grabbed his sleeve. _I have faith._

"Stranger, who are you?"

"Why, I am whatever the wind says I am."

"Then you are no ordinary man?" Her eyes fell on the broken boulder. He shrugged, the mischievous grin lighting up his face once more.

"A man, I assure you, I am not." He cupped her chin his hands. "A god? A demon? An angel? Perhaps I am nothing but a figment of your starved imagination."

I have faith. She clutched tighter to his black fabric. That amused him. He let go of her chin and took her in his arms once more. He spun, taking her with him as he moved through whipping winds, cackling into the sky. And all she could do was stare at him with wide eyes.

"Then let me ask. What is a demon? Or rather, what is a god?"

They were back at the wells. He waved his hands, sleeves fluttering as water gushed from the well, the droplets hitting her hair. "Here, I bring you water!" He danced past the wells, keeping her in his embrace, bringing forth water with each wave of the palm until spurts of water clashed with one another, forming a battle of transparent flames.

Her head was still spinning when he came to a stop. His grin was replaced with a sound of surprise when she fell on her knees, taking his hands in her own. "Master, help us."

And help them, he did.

X

"Why waste your time on these creatures if you have no use for them?" the stranger had told them as the last lamb died.

He removed his outer robes and threw them at the crowd gathered around him, starving sick things with sallow cheeks and nothing but faith. Her father caught his black robes and spun- from underneath, a pile of cooked meat appeared- lamb. And more. The pile was never ending, so long as it came from the stranger's clothes.

"Now feast, for now you have water! And now you have food!" the stranger commanded.

He laughed, a bitter charming sound as they tore at his gift. They had not fed so heartily in so long. So grateful for the meat, she had not noticed how salty it was or how bland it was.

"Come, laugh with me!"

And laugh, they did.

IX

She lost track of the seasons ever since the stranger had come. The wells gushed with water every day, every house was stocked with food- lamb, ox, fish, crab- and fruits arrived by the dozen. Sweet nectar, beautiful covers, fruits of all colors- grapes and apples and the likes of which she had never laid eyes on before. They were never as succulent as they appeared, but so grateful was she, that she took no notice.

He took residence in her father's house, a strange servant to have around. For he asked to be served in order to serve. He laid the food on the table but it was up to her to cut them up. He kept the heat and cold from entering. But it was she who had to make his bed, a bed he never slept in. And he never ate the food he made. How marvelous he was to her. How secretive.

How beautiful.

For he was a beautiful creature, hair as black as his robes and skin so flawless he could not be mortal.

"Are you divine?" she had asked him one night as he filled their table with food and wine. He responded with a bitter laugh.

"Divine, you say?"

And then he had left to play dreidels with her brother, laughing with childish glee.

 _I have water. I have food. I have-_

 _I have you._

XIII

They loved him. They all loved him. The children clamored to his side when he took to the village streets. The men and women alike cried for his attention and soon, he was all but gone from their little house. He was everything to them, the very anchor that kept them in the light, fed, rich, happy.

"Am I a god, you say?" he had asked the crowd. "If I say I am, will you worship me?"

He raised his arms and cackled, a touch of sorrow within. "Would you forsake all you have and make this covenant with me? Promise to worship I and I alone? Your savior, your master? Swear this and I shall bind myself to your humble village forevermore!"

They were uneasy. She was not. She ran to him.

 _I have you. I need nothing when I have you._

"I swear!" She jumped into his arms and he twirled her for all to see.

And swear, they did.

VII

He could rebuild structures in the flash of an eye, but the temple had none of his touches. They slaved over it for him. It was a monument for their idol, their protector, their savior, a labor of their adoration. He said nothing. He had simply watched, belittling pleasure in his eyes as the walls went up.

They had nothing but faith. Nothing but faith _in him._

And she was no different.

VI

"Sometimes I wish you were a man," she told him once as she offered wine that she had made from his grapes.

He sat atop his seat of cushions, arms folded casually. He always looked as if wind followed him- he was whatever the wind chose to call him. No longer did he cover himself in black robes; striped fabric had taken their place and in those light clothes, he appeared as heaven itself.

"And why do you say that?" he asked.

But there had always been a seed of doubt in her mind. For he did not exude the aurora of heaven or light. A sad murkiness followed him about, something base and ungodly, something dark that they chose to ignore in their devotion. She knelt by his side, the light pouring into his temple, taking one of his hands in her own. She traced the black nails, an unnatural color, forever a reminder of what she could not have.

"Eighteen summers and I am still unmarried," she confessed, "my father is worried."

His other hand touched her braid. "Your hair is losing its grey. That means you are well."

She beamed. "Yes, yes I am. But-"

"What is it? There is nothing I cannot provide for you. Say the word and it shall be so."

And so she did.

V

She had invited him to sin with her. This, she knew, but was it a sin if he was a god? Surely, this meant she was blessed. And still her womb remained silent- he had no seed to spare her for she was but a lowly mortal. As the days continued to pass by their village, her doubt took hold. There were new births and few deaths, more food and less work. And very soon, their village had become a city.

And her beloved was in every home, a carving in his likeness perched on every mantle.

Her father prayed to it twice a day. She saw men in the square pull the little stones out and kiss them. The skies darkened, then. But he would shield them from the rain, as he shielded them from the cold and heat. And so, she did the only thing she could in her time of doubt.

She prayed. To him.

IV

"You take no pleasure in this," she said, buried in his cushions, the light of a torch reflecting in her eyes.

His face was hidden in the darkness, robes discarded to reveal more of his smooth skin. She crawled atop him, bringing a hand to his face. This was not what she wanted. Flesh was flesh- it did not satiate the soul.

"You know I require no sleep. Speak your mind."

"You must not laugh."

He chuckled.

"You must not laugh!"

"Then I will not."

She was glad she could not see his face; this was all he had been to her, a shadow of a blur, close enough and too far to touch. Was that not the definition of a god? She no longer knew.

"I love you," she said quietly, "not because you are beautiful, but... I love you. I do not want you anymore, for I love you. I want to lie with you in a bed within our village. I want to wake up and see your face. I want to bear your children. I want to share your soul."

And then, there was no sound.

"My soul, you say?" he mumbled, "I can offer you no such thing."

"My lord-"

"Speak not of such silly desires. If you no longer want my touch, then begone."

And so, she left, teary in the night.

III

He stopped playing with the children. She did not know when or why, but some time in the past few years, he quit. He no longer danced with the village nor did he come out to laugh at their folly. He took to brooding in his temple.

He no longer accepted offerings in person. That was her job, for she was now his priestess.

And outside, the city wells burst from overflowing water.

II

News spread of an army to the north, brutal and quick as they spread through the encompassing lands. It was divine punishment for the defeated. But they feared nothing, for they had him.

"The lot of you are like ants," he told her once in a biting tone, glaring down at those who prayed outside his temple, "desperate and weak."

"It is us ants who built your temple," she replied, sharper than she had meant. "Forgive me."

"No matter. This temple will stay up."

"Even if we are attacked?"

He said nothing. And attack, they did.

I

She met him on a dying day. She parted with him on a dying day. The sun had been scorching as their city burned. She watched as her people were slaughtered, their idol stones smashed and crushed. She remembered the boulder he had destroyed that day. Their wells were now dry and covered in fire. Her brother was dead, his head lopped off.

This was their punishment. They were damned. For their faith was weak and they had sinned.

Because of their false idol, their useless god.

Too tired to run, she went back to the temple, curses ringing in her ears. The survivors, those who had once loved and revered him, cursed his name. They would soon be dead, as all his followers were.

"Save us! Please save us!" a boy was shrieking at the temple steps, sobbing so hard it echoed on.

She walked past him. _I have no food. I have no water. I have-_

 _I do not even have you._

"Why do you abandon us now?" she asked, her voice cracking, "were we not good enough to you? Did we not love you enough? Why leave us now?"

The temple was in flames and her torn robes peeled with the fiery winds. She fell to her knees, burying her head in her hands. He had saved her once, so why not now? She could hear the sound of soldiers coming their way. She heard the boy's screams. She knew what fate awaited her.

"I am no god."

It was from him, a resigned confession that she had always suspected. He had lied from the very start. Not a god.

"Begone," was her final word to him, devoid of what she wanted to say. There had been so much passion, so much love for him, so much she wanted and gave- betrayed, she resented, and resentful, she hated. But as he turned, there was one thing she did not know how to say.

And he would never know she had done so, not even for a thousand years more.

She forgave him.

()

Against the divine, he was nothing. For he was a false idol and no god. The demon fell and did not get up. Weary, wounded, too humiliated to say another word.

"Look," his opponent said, a heavenly soldier sent from the sky, "your followers damned, your temple destroyed, your dwelling gone. This battle is over, demon. You never stood a chance."

He roared in frustration, writhing in his own blood. A thousand curses left his mouth and they were silenced with a single glare.

"You have the least right to scream, you who have murdered thousands and brought misery on millions. You who steal souls and you who tempt the despairing. This is a making of your design, demon, and suffer for it, you will."

The angel left then, leaving him to his utter defeat. His words spoke the truth, for how he would have laughed had this befallen another village. And why despair for this one? Because they had accepted him? Loved him? Made him feel, that for a moment, he was not made to damn and be damned? If only for a moment.

He had gone to see the burning temple one last time- he watched her die there. Too weak to do more. Too ashamed to speak, he watched them beg.

In the end, this was the fate he would bring on all- death, destruction, betrayal. He took the blame, for he must have known from the start this would happen. And still, he prolonged it.

"I am no god," he told her, this woman who once loved him.

"Begone."

And leave, he did.

* * *

"Crude as always, young master," Sebastian said, "then I shall follow your wishes."

Ciel reached for the pen once more. "Latin, it is?"

"Yes, Latin it is."

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! And reviews are always welcome. Feel free to let me know what you thought of the almost-romance too.**

 **On a side note, Ciel doesn't really think Hebrew is an "obsolete" language (and neither do I!)- he just thinks he won't have use for its oldest form. And that triggered some old memories...**


End file.
